Harry Potter and the Splendidus Mutatio
by an ex-tra ordinary parrot
Summary: The aftermath of the final battle between himself and Voldemort leaves Harry to question his destiny. Coming to a conclusion, Harry realizes there is only one way out.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own, produce, or have any incorporation with the Harry Potter series. There was a time during my sweet childhood... um... teenaged life where I liked Harry Potter. Now it just pisses me off royally. I mean come on, the ending? Well, enough with my ranting, I present to you the ending of Harry Potter. Or is it the beginning? Hmmm...

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Harry looked back at Hogwarts and watched as the burning embers of the castle danced from turret to turret. It was finally over after all these years: Voldemort's gloved reign of terror on Hogwarts and on the entire magical world had crumbled into a lifeless black powder. It was over now. He could hardly believe it. This magical tug o' war had started when he came for his first year at Hogwarts, he was a young innocent boy unaware of the evil forces presiding to take him down. At eighteen, he had seen far more, the conceivable good and the inconceivably bad, though he probably had more of his share of bad. But now it was over and he was very tired. He cast one lingering look at his burning school, he turned away and walked down towards the edge of the cliff.

"HARRY!"

Harry turned around to see the source of the exclamation. He saw Ron and Hermione racing down the steep edge of the hill that touched the cliff. He squared his shoulders and ignored their approach, continuing his descent down towards the cliff.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, sweat dripping from his face and spittle projecting from his mouth. "Harry," he repeated, "you don't have to do this. It's over, Harry, you've lived for this moment!"

Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione who both stood shoulder to shoulder and were looking at him hopefully, expectantly.

Hermione walked forward to close the gap between her and Harry. Grasping his shoulders, she looked up into his eyes. "Harry, please consider this logic: Voldemort has been defeated and you can finally relax now." She smiled to emphasis her statement.

Anger, Harry pushed Hermione away. "Don't you get it, Hermione? Don't you get it, Ron? It's too late for me, all my life I have been fighting Voldemort—that was my life. I don't know anything else besides fight him. Now that he's dead and gone, I just can't breathe a sigh of relief and charade around as some normal teenager.

"It's too late for me," Harry reaffirmed, "and there's nothing you all could say or do to change my mind. This is something I need to do."

He turned his back to them to watch the departing sun. The sun reminded him of Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, and the time he was privy to seeing the magnificent bird being reborn from its own ashes.

Looking back at Ron and Hermione, Harry flashed smiled. "Don't worry, it's my time."

Tears poured down Hermione's face as she hazarded a sob. She smothered her sob into Ron's chest as he held her in a tight embrace.

"You'll be okay then, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry looked at his friends realizing how much this meant to them. "Honestly," he said answering slowly, "I don't know. But I have a feeling that everything will be alright."

Ron gave Harry a weak watery smile and stroked Hermione's hair. Hermione pulled herself out of Ron's arms and rushed at Harry with arms open. The two friends shared one last hug.

"You'll be good now, you won't give Ron any trouble." Harry asked her.

"When have I ever?" Hermione answered chuckling softly.

The friends laughed at that response. Untangling himself from Hermione, Harry stepped back from them—an inch of land separated him from empty air. Seeing that he was close to the edge of the cliff, Harry smiled once last time at his longtime friends, tossed his wand to Ron and jumped over the cliff.

Hermione threw herself on to the grass sobbing. Ron stood stonily above her watching the waning sunset. Voldemort was defeated and Harry Potter was gone. Why Harry had decided to go this way, Ron was not sure, but the hero lived up to his tragic endings. So thus was Harry Potter.

The key turned the lock of the door and the girl pushed the door open. She kicked of her high heels which were aching her feet and unrolled her nylons from her sleek calves. She went through her mail bin to see if there was anything important or interesting, however she was meet with neither. Sighing, she untied her long jet-black hair while walking to her bedroom to change out of her clothes. She stopped by her vanity table to eye her tired countenance; her thin face bespoke the lack of sleep she had been enduring, her green eyes puffy and bruised with dark circles. She really needed to get some sleep. She belted on a red kimono dressing gown and sat down at her writing table. She had to write that article before Tuesday and she had many other literary deadlines to meet—work was so demanding. Chewing on the nib of her pen, she stared down at the blank page before her. So concentrated she was to get over her writer's block, she did not hear the approach of the unseen visitor. A cold and deathly chill came over the room. She looked at the thermostat debating whether or not it was worth the gas bill to crank up the heat. The cold temperature won and so she got up to change the setting on the thermostat.

"Harrietta," a wispy voice whispered.

"Who's there," she asked looking around the room for the voice. She did not see anything. Shrugging it off as a figment of her imagination, she sat back down at her table.

After a few minutes, Harrietta felt a swishing motion behind her chair. She tried to ignore the prickling sensation on the back of her neck, but the feeling was too intense. She turned around to see what was behind her.

Levitating above her carpeted bedroom stood a hallow, a ghostly apparition. Dumbstruck, Harrietta was glued to her seat by fright.

The hallow was in the shape of a young man, not much younger than her. Although he looked familiar, she was not certain where she had seen him before.

The ghost drifted closer to her chair until they were both at eye length. Stupefied, she looked into the ghost's mirror-like green eyes.

The ghost opened his mouth and said, "Harrietta, never forget who you were."

Immediately a searing pain struck her temples. She touched the lightening scar on her forehead and the pain intensified. She felt like her insides were searing to charcoal, but the pain suddenly stopped and she was all alone in her room. There was no ghost in sight.

Etching the lightening shape of her scar gently, Harrietta had to remember who she was. Bad memories always had this way of getting to her, she thought, as she cradled her head in her hands. Bad memories always had a way to remind you what you were. She didn't like it one bit.


End file.
